


Triskaidekophobia

by NoChaser



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Humor, M/M, New Years, Phobias, Post Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoChaser/pseuds/NoChaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some years it just doesn't pay to wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triskaidekophobia

It had been all Justin could do to get Brian to pull his head out from under the covers this morning. Then he watched as the man's face paled and returned to his little turtled haven. Oh, he'd seen him like this, huddled and reticent to start the morning off, on more than one New Year's Day. But every other time, at least, his hesitation to crawl out from under the ludicrously expensive bedding was due to an overindulgence in fun, frolic and fucking the night before. But this year... this year was a whole different matter.

Justin sighed. It was just too much. Brian was a grown-assed man who had dealt with a horrible childhood, homophobes with baseball bats and bombs, opening Kinnetik offices around the country, and two bouts of fucking cancer. Surely he could handle _this_.

Hopefully.

Probably.

Maybe.

"Brian, you have to pull it together. Gus is expecting us. _You_ are the one who promised to spend the day with him and you've already spent half of it hiding."

"Fuck off," came the muffled response from the lump huddled deep beneath the burgundy duvet.

"Jesus, Brian..."

"Fuck. Off!" Brian pulled the warmth and darkness tighter around him, wondering just why the fuck the Mayan thing couldn't have actually been true. Sure, they would all be dead, but... at least he wouldn't be faced with this... this... this fucking nightmare! He groaned and tried to crawl further into the mattress.

Yes, Brian Kinney was a drama queen. Of the highest order. But he was Justin's drama queen. And, God knows, Justin had spent much of the past almost thirteen years trying to unqueen the queen. He'd rolled over so many times for the man, he should just change his name to Rover. Justin had been there to buffer the occasional scuffs to Brian's alpha image, making sure the stud was still seen as the stud, even though Justin knew Brian was really just a romantic, often terrified little boy at heart. But secrets were secrets and Justin made sure he kept all of Brian's. But this one was going to be a bitch to keep if Brian insisted in staying in bed for the whole damned _year_.

"Brian... I know this is difficult, but you've handled it every _month_. You'll... we'll get through this. Okay? Together. Like we always do... one day at a time. Please..."

The lump jumped and Justin found his arms full of lush, burgundy satin. "Three hundred and sixty-fucking-four of them, Justin! All in a row! It's Two thousand thirteen! Two thousand and fucking _thirteen_!" One precisely practiced dramatic flair and Brian was again buried in his decadent satin coffin with a mumbled, "Oh, god... just fucking shoot me now..."

Justin sighed. Again. Oh, yeah, this was not going to be pretty.

One of the many, many secrets no one but Justin knew about Brian was exactly how phobic he _really_ was. Everyone joked about the obvious. Commitment phobia. Food phobia. Age phobia. Funny thing was everyone assumed they _were_ joking. They weren't. Those particular phobias just happened to fit into the intricate image Brian had woven around his life. He had intertwined _those_ particular issues into his very mystique. Made them work for him. But how the hell was he going to weave this one into his life without letting the proverbial black cat out of the bag?

Triskaidekaphobia.

In the year 2013.

Christ.

"Well, you can't live your life in bed for the whole year, Brian. Believe me, _someone_ will notice and come storming the Bastille, pitchforks and other painful farm utensils in hand."

The lump whimpered. Slightly.

Justin rolled his eyes, let out one more exasperated breath and gave up. They'd been at this for hours now and Brian was no closer to seeing some kind of reason than he had been when the dooms-day clock struck midnight. He stomped down the three steps and stalked toward the mess still remaining on the counter from their dinner the night before. Boxes of now dried up Chinese leftovers littered the marble countertop. Brian's own beautifully crafted dark wood chopsticks jutted from the box of shirataki noodles. The unopened packages of plastic chopsticks, with their signature red wrappers, lay next to Justin's own preferred fork. Justin picked up one of the intricately patterned packages, a hopeful glint suddenly brightening the so-far gloomy day.

"Um... Brian..." Justin's voice was low, seductive. He had to make this interesting enough for Brian to actually listen. "You know the Gregorian calendar is not the only way to delineate the years. Technically, the Chinese calendar has been around a lot longer. So, really, if time is any measure, it's actually the year 4714."

The Brian lump moved slightly and then stilled.

"Yeah, so?"

"So... you can use the Gregorian year for work purposes - and then only when absolutely necessary - and operate the rest of the time on the Chinese calendar. It won't be 2013 then. It will be 4714. Technically, you made it through the entirety of 4713 with no major bad luck, right?"

Justin held his breath. Christ, he hoped this convolution of logic would work on Brian's phobia riddled reasoning.

The burgundy parted and hazel peeked through.

"So, my actually existing in the year 2013 would be strictly limited." Jesus, he thought to himself. Could this cracked crock of shit work? He knew his phobia was totally unfounded - scientifically. Didn't make it easier to deal with on a daily basis, however. If he could just trick his brain into this... this... fucking creative idea! He smiled for the first time since 2012.

"Sunshine?"

Justin smiled. He knew that tone of voice. Thank fuck.

"Yeah?" He put down the unopened, wonderfully inspiring chopstick package and walked seductively back toward the bedroom.

"Why don't we celebrate the Chinese New Year? Make our own fireworks?" Justin giggled and the sound went directly to Brian's now hopeful cock.

"Well, technically," Justin drawled, "we missed that particular celebration by about ten months. But we'll have another chance in February. That's when 4715 will be celebrated. But..." He batted his long lashes and felt relief seep into him. "I see no reason why we can't play with the pyrotechnics a bit early."

"February, huh?"

"Yep. That's when the Year of the Snake will begin. 4715." He smiled and crawled into the bed next to Brian.

"The... what?"

"The Chinese year of the snake."

"Snake??? The fucking year of the fucking snake???"

 "Brian..."

"Fucking _snakes_ , Justin?"

Justin closed his eyes and felt the relief seep back out. _Shit_ , he thought as Brian coffined himself back into the damned burgundy satin. _I have a big fucking mouth_.

Justin sighed. Again.

Happy fucking New Year.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own any of it. Oh, how I wish that was untrue.


End file.
